May Fortune Favour
by GotchaYouLilDirtbag
Summary: FORMAT CORRECTED! Yet another of Blake's plans doesn't go according to plan... An early fic of mine sitting gathering dust for want of motivation to complete it. Reviews are highly motivating... hint hint (even if you hate it!)


The bar was a typical frontier mongrel mix, part grog trough part whore house. It had been created just like the entire "city" had been created, piece by haphazard piece, sprouting out from the original rotten core that was now buried somewhere in the centre of the whole mess like a splinter in a weeping sore. Nothing matched. Nothing quite fit. There were clear signs of shuttle craft hull, chunks of 'cobra fuselage and planks of fungus covered wood all half buried in the slimy walls. There were so many haphazard fixit jobs evident on its pocked skin, and it creaked so loudly in the wind, that you could be forgiven for thinking its ability to remain standing was one of the last religious miracles permitted by the Federation before the beginning of the new calendar.

And it stank: beer, sweat, vomit, smoke, rotting mud and piss. Humid clouds of the rancid stench belched erratically out of the open door momentarily suffocating passers by like poison gas. No one seemed to mind however and some actually seemed to be attracted by it, hurrying inside out of the cold winds. Like it was the last sanctuary in the galaxy. As if it was the last place free of the ever present cold sticky sewerage soaked mud; the last oasis from the frigid disease ridden reality of life on an ex-penal planet on a forgotten edge of the All-Fucking-Mighty Federation. If it was, if that was what it truly was, then the whole human race was totally fucked. Might as well break out the cyanide cocktails at happy hour and get the whole thing over with.

Avon hated it on sight. It made him sick. If the target was here, in such a hell hole, then he must be desperate. The kind of sick desperation that drove men to cover themselves in their own faeces in a final wretched attempt to stop a would-be torturer applying their trade. He had seen that. Seen men stoop to that special kind of humiliation enough times... He suppressed the thought before it began obliging him with specific memories, one of the many curses of total recall. (Another one was that he was the only one Blake could rely on to remember the image of the target they were here to find).

And once there, at that point of final degradation, the victim was useless, finished. So far gone that even a skilled interrogator could get nothing from them. There was nothing left to find. If their target was here, and had been for some time, as Blake had said, then Avon was supremely doubtful that this discomfort was going to be worth anything at all.

He checked his position once again, tucked out of sight between two more sad excuses for buildings, tried not to start shivering in the bitter gale, and slapped the communicator on his bracelet.

"Position secure. Liberator respond." He brought the bracelet right up to his lips to be heard over the gale. Passers by were paying him little attention, probably assuming that he was just another spaced out Shadow addict talking to his own hand. There were enough about these days.

"Liberator." It was Jenna. "Have you found it yet?" Avon heard the smile in her voice. She still thought Blake's choice of himself to reconnoitre the area was very funny. It was infuriating. Jenna was one of the VERY few women he had ever known, alpha-grade or otherwise, to actually brazenly laugh in his face. Totally unafraid of the dark menacing facade he deliberately showed to the galaxy and despite knowing, or at least suspecting, exactly what he was capable of. She was at ease around him. An ease born of familiarity and recognition he had realised. She was not unafraid because she thought he could not or would not harm her, she was unmoved because she KNEW he could, and probably would, and understood that threat like she knew her own violent capacities, and was just as comfortable with them. Yes, they were very alike in many ways. If, he thought, and not for the first time, Blake had never been around things could have gotten very interesting, in more ways than one. ('If not for Blake', a phrase that kept coming back to haunt him). When it came to Blake, however, they could not have been more different. Whilst Jenna was, for the moment, content to follow the fool and support his outrageous escapades, Avon could not apply himself in the same way. Some fundamental flaw on one of their behalves he imagined...

"Yes." He answered evenly, refusing to let his muddy discomfort fuel her amusement. "And tell Blake that if his friend is here then this is going to be a waste of time."

"What's the matter?" Back to business.

"The matter? Nothing is the matter. It is just that if Jarvid has become so desperate that he has been forced to live in a sewer like this then I sincerely doubt that he has much left at all to offer us."

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you come down here and see for yourself?" Two men stumbled out of the bar, fighting in the slow motion ballet of the totally inebriated. One of them fell into the mud and vomited.

"I don't think so." She was smiling again, he could hear it. "But I'll let Blake know of your concerns."

"You do that." He couldn't help the irritation that was creeping into his voice. Across the soggy road the man still standing was trying to remove the downed man's kidneys with his boots. Wonderful. "Is Vila ready?"

"Is he ever?" Jenna's reply was suddenly drowned out by a male voice:

"Hey, enough of the sledging. I don't have to be here. I didn't want any part of this remember, no part at all!" Vila protested. "Maybe you should go instead of me Jenna? I mean, after all, you've been to places like this before, you know the ground."

"Why do you think I am not going! Besides Vila I am NOT the only one familiar with these types of places, am I?"

"Ooh, this is not fair." Vila was starting to whine, his usual recourse. "Why couldn't we wait until Blake's leg heals? This was his idea in the first place. He should be going, not me. I catch cold easy."

"Don't worry, in this cesspool you won't have to try to CATCH anything. Now get down here and let's get this over with." Avon couldn't stop it, he was starting to shiver now. He had not expected to be out in the cold this long. His finger joints were aching and the tip of his nose was going numb. Across the road a crowd was gathering around the two rejects still fighting it out. Well, one was fighting, the other looked like he was probably dying. He hadn't moved in a while.

There was a white flash, a shimmer, and Vila was standing, miserable and white faced, by his side. After a moment to orient himself he swooped nearer, tucking himself into the narrow gap behind Avon and up against the wall.

"There it is." Avon indicated across the muddy road, through the thin trickles of miscreants wandering passed. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm freezing and I want to go back up." Avon glared at him. "Alright, alright. Ooh its cold."

"I had noticed." Avon answered drily. "Now, hurry up!" Vila, hugged his chest, shivered and screwed up his eyes to scrutinize the bar. Avon watched Vila. There it was again: that sharpness of intelligence. Over the last few weeks Avon had begun to notice that something other than the pathetic court jester facade was at work within the wiry thief. What Avon had initially thought was typical inbred Delta stupidity and gutlessness appeared to be laced with considerably more complexity than that. It was a mystery and Avon disliked mysteries. The only cure for them was to go through the often tedious job of solving them.

In between Blake's little crusades, and his own studies of Liberator's elegant computer systems he had begun a private study of the delta. That had not been easy. Trying to observe someone expert in thievery and all the skills that went with it, without being spotted, was nearly impossible, and as such a challenge Avon could not leave alone. After weeks of observation and the occasional experiment Avon was more certain than ever that Vila was not what he seemed. He had even come to suspect that the Delta grading the thief so loudly and frequently laid claim to was not entirely the truth either. It was becoming more fascinating as time went on.

"Ergh, I think I stepped in something rotten." Vila suddenly squawked. Then again, Avon thought to himself, his suppositions may simply be a strange symptom of battle fatigue. "Oh yuk, I did! I did!"

"Vila!" Avon's temper flared and he grabbed a fistful of Vila's heavy coat. Black eyes met brown and no words were needed. He released the fabric and pointed a finger at the bar. Keeping his voice icy, which was not a problem in this cold miserable place, he repeated: "What do you think?"

"It's nothing special." Vila reported. "Just a typical frontier bar. Though the natives don't seem very friendly." Avon glanced at the crowd now obscuring the view of the 'fight'. "If Blake's friend is in there it could be a little unhealthy trying to get him out, or us in."

"Explain." Avon flexed the fingers on his gun hand, trying to warm them up.

"Well, we don't exactly look like regulars. Bound to make everyone jumpy, take notice. Maybe more than take notice."

"It's a frontier world; surely they are used to travellers moving through."

"No, they aren't." Vila suddenly held up a placating hand. "Look at the bar. Notice anything? You should have, you were the one who went looking for this place." Avon swallowed his agitation. If Vila wanted to play games he'd go along with it for a little while longer (in the interests of science (sic)), though not for too much longer. Out of habit he tried once again to overcome his reflexes, but could not stop shivering. It was another point of irritation in a day filled with them.

"I'm looking," Avon said. "I can't see anything."

"That's because you are looking in the wrong place. Okay, okay, don't look at me like that. I'm not on tonight's menu!" Vila took a step back. "The bar is in the wrong place. Its miles from the space port, its run down, and it doesn't advertise itself. Look, no signs on it, no flashing lights. If you were some passing planet hopper looking for a good time, hell even a relatively SAFE time, would YOU stop here? And if you were some political agitator looking for recruits would you have even come down as far as this sector? Would you LIVE here?" He shook his head. "Nope, this place is for the locals only. And my guess is that they'd enforce that."

"Wonderful." Avon grumbled. He slapped the communicator on his wrist. "Jenna."

"Yes Avon. Is there a problem?"

"There could be. Is Blake up to talking?"

"I don't know, I'll check."

Beside him Vila was doing a little dance in the mud, trying to stay warm. Avon could hear his teeth chattering. This was just fucking wonderful. Absolutely fucking wonderful.

"Avon. Avon respond." It was Blake.

"Blake, Vila and I have examined the situation."

"And?" Blake interrupted, impatient, as usual. His habit of striving to achieve his goals by ploughing through everyone and everything was, in a way, admirable but it did nothing to improve his temper. Blake seemed to have a very low, and completely irrational, frustration level which was getting shorter and more illogical everyday.

"Are you sure your information was correct? Jenna might have been right. It could be a set up."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, from the look of this place, it is unlikely that he is still alive, if he was ever here. And if he is I don't think we can get him out or us in without some considerable risk. Provided that this is not a trap of course."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I think you had better teleport us up now."

"No." Blake's bearish predilection was, apparently, unaffected by his near death experience. "I need you and Vila to find him. We have to meet with him. Do I need to remind you why?"

"Yes!" Vila was leaning over Avon's shoulder. "Yes I think you bloody well do need to remind us why." Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to and his tone turned beseeching. "Blake its freezing down here, it stinks, and the wildlife is distinctly unfriendly."

"We need to find him Vila. He has vital information about several resistance movements, their contacts, their locations, their strengths. Plus he is in a vital area of Federation space and is looking to join up with the resistance movement. If we are ever going to have a chance of defeating the Federation, if we are ever going to be free, we need to unite! We HAVE to find him!"

"We?" Avon asked. The man was infuriating, always assuming, always making uninvited generalizations. For someone who carried on about individual rights and freedoms with every breath he drew he could have very little regard for the individuals in the immediate vicinity. Typical idealist, blind to all but his own sweeping generalities. "You are not talking to your converts here Blake. WE do not NEED to find anyone."

"Do I need to remind you that the downfall of the Federation is the only way YOU will be able to be free yourself? This offer has been the best chance we have had to begin something tangible, so yes Avon I think WE do NEED to find him." Avon bit his lower lip before he lost his temper. As usual Blake was missing the point entirely. There was no good in arguing about it at the moment, however, Blake was in one of his crusading moods and nothing and nobody was going to shift his focus. If he pushed him too far at the moment Avon was not entirely convinced that Blake would bring them back up at all. It was a situation that he would not let himself fall into again; he must have been insane to let Blake convince him to even consider this ludicrous and dangerous undertaking. Next time, whether he was the best man for the job or not (and considering Blake's choices that was likely to be most of the time), the fool could look elsewhere. It was time he updated his alternatives to 'life' aboard Liberator with Blake running things.

"Alright." Avon spoke through clenched teeth. "But you STAY by the teleport we are going to need an instantaneous pick up."

"We'll be ready."

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Avon lead the way. He was glad to be moving. Short of returning to Liberator this was the best way of keeping his muscles from stiffening in the cold. His gun hand, he kept flexing to keep it working. The pace was slow, however, as each foot step had to be checked to be sure it was stable. Behind him he could hear Vila's habitual light tread as he stepped into his foot prints.

The fight had finished and only the muddy corpse of the loser was left, compressed into the mud. How many more corpses were underfoot in the same way Avon wondered? It was a disquieting thought.

"We're just going to walk right in the front door?"

"You have a better idea?" Avon answered distractedly. In fact he was not going to barge in the front door, he had something a little more subtle in mind. Something safer too considering that this situation was looking more like a trap with every passing second. But, for the time being he could not be bothered telling Vila, his plan was not something the thief was going to like.

"Yes I have a better idea: leaving."

"Tell that to Blake." Avon could have sworn he heard Vila curse the rebel leader but the wind snatched away his words before he could hear specifics. "Wait." Avon stopped, distracted by a sudden thought, and Vila ran into him.

"What! What!" Vila was alarmed and drew his weapon looking for the enemy. Avon ignored him and approached the corpse. "Keep watch." He ordered the thief. This could develop into a very ironic situation if... He reached down into the frigid mud, trying not to think about just what it was composed of, and put some muscle into turning the half buried corpse over. "What are you doing? I didn't think you were into grave robbing Avon. What are you doing? He might have friends."

"He probably doesn't. Not here anyway. Remember what you said about this being a locals only establishment? Maybe he wasn't a local." Baring his teeth Avon gave one hard tug and the mud reluctantly let the body go. It wasn't Jarvid.

"Well, I'd like to say that that was worth the effort," Avon swivelled on his heels as he stood, wiping his hands on his pants. "Vila, lookout!" In one smooth movement Avon drew. Vila dropped. The computer expert fired a rapid series of blasts at the hostile looking mob emerging from the bar. They fled in all directions. Some ducking back inside, others throwing themselves down into the street. Three of them dropped dead where Avon's energy blasts had hit them. "I think we'd better leave."

"You don't have to convince me!" The lowlifes were reassembling, some had blasters now. One was carrying a heavy looking rifle.

"Let's go." Avon began to back away gun poised. They may have outnumbered he and Vila by at least 10 to 1 but they weren't stupid enough to try to rush them when their quarry were still armed. It was the only thing in their favour. Bar one thing... "Vila contact Liberator!"

"Goin' so'where?" What the hell? The voice behind him made Avon instinctively turn gun raised. He fired before he had time to see who was behind him, hoping to hit someone. It was inexcusable - his old defence instructor would have torn shreds off him for failing something so elemental as watching his back. Dammit! Missed. Something hard and heavy slammed into his chest knocking the wind out of him. The gun flew out of his hand. Arms circled his torso and squeezed. Hard. Lifted him off the ground. He could feel his ribs creaking. "VILA - LIBERATOR - NOW!"

Then there was no time left to worry about Vila, Liberator or anything except getting these arms to let go before his ribs broke. Shit. Adrenaline surge lifted his tingling hands. Find the pressure points. Find the pressure points. He dug in. Fingers hooked like talons, not looking to paralyse but rather to kill. Nothing. The world had dissolved into silence. Cold, numb, silence. Were his fingers even applying pressure or were they dangling at his sides like a puppet with its strings broken? It wasn't working.

It wasn't working!

Pain exploded like an energy bolt in his chest.

Then he was falling. Falling. Weightless.

So this is dying? I think I've been here before.

Then he hit the ground. Hard. Into the mud.

And the world exploded. Silence detonated into a thin sinew shredding howl, vision rushed back, grey like a veil, and then sensation. Agony, on every level he was aware you could experience it. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? Was this death? Aware, the mind still trying and needing to get the body going again, forever, trapped. Paralysed.

"STOP IT. LEAVE OFF!" Someone yelled

No, not dead. No after life would lumber him with Vila, not even hell. He forced air into his lungs, tasted blood and nearly passed out. Control, control, have to have control. Think. Take control. Its just meat. Just meat. Remember the lessons. Remember who you are. Now, get past it and get up.

Get up.

Get up.

Get up or die.

He struggled. Got one foot flat on the muddy ground. The other.

"Impressive." A thoughtful voice made him look up. He struggled to focus. The blur sharpened and Avon lifted his head to stand upright.

"Glad you think so." He managed. The owner of the voice smiled, then hit him, hard.

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On board Liberator, napping in the rec room, Cally sat up with a start, heart pounding with adrenaline. Shock. Disgust. Pain. Desperation. Anger. Nothingness. A spiking melee of emotions and thoughts striking at her like lightening bolts. She recoiled in shock. _Avon?!_

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"Avon?" A single word, pure and clear, in the confusion. "Can you hear me? Avon!" _Avon?!_ He floated in midair for a while. Did something just happen? His senses kept slipping out of his control. Was that sound or sensation? What was going on? Was it important? Silence. He drifted serenely. "Oh please wake up Avon, there's a good chap. Don't leave me here in the cold, alone." Who was that? Anna? Anna!

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"Cally?" The deep voice was far off in the distance and yet nearby. Gentle. Like a cat's purr close to her ear. She blinked. The terrible sensations were gone and Gan was crouched next to her lounger engulfing her hand in his. His brow smoothed out as she met his steady gaze. "Are you alright Cally?"

"Yes," she felt her voice tremble a little as she spoke, her nerves felt abraded. "I think so."

"Was it a nightmare?" He asked. "Do you want to tell me about it?" Cally looked at the big man. From anyone else in this crew, perhaps even Blake, she may not have accepted such an invitation, but from Gan it seemed genuine and springing from something pure and undemanding. It was the honest compassion of a child. Cally smiled and put her free hand over the top of his as it held on to her hers.

"Thankyou Gan but it was not a nightmare. At least not the kind to which you are referring." Gan's brow recrinkled as he tried to untwist that one.

"Is it something to do with you being a telepath Cally?"

"It is." She nodded as she rose quickly. "And I must tell Blake."

"About what?" Gan rose to his full and imposing height.

"About Avon, and Vila." She called out over her shoulder as she made for the door. "I think they are in trouble."

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Cally and Gan entered the flight deck finding Blake sitting on the flight deck couches, splinted leg propped awkwardly on a tool box, reading. Frowning at something.

"Blake." Cally called out before reaching him. "Blake, Avon and Vila are in trouble."

"What?" Blake was instantly alert. "Did they call in? What's going on? Did the scanners pick up something?"

"They have not called in, and our scanners have not picked anything up, but they are in trouble." She stated again, dreading his next inevitable question.

"How do you know they are in trouble then?" Blake was snapped, annoyed at being unnecessarily wound up.

"I felt it."

"Felt it? But you're not an empath. Are you?"

"No," well, that was not an outright lie, "but I am telling you that I felt it."

"What did you 'feel'?" She was losing him. Already she could sense his thoughts drifting to battles still beyond dreaming. This crew had never really believed in her 'unusual' abilities, nor did they trust her because of them. It was a dichotomy of thought that even Avon did not seem bothered by. Avon. If he and Vila were in trouble she could not back down. Comrades were everything.

"Just now in the rec area I sensed their presence. I was aware of their distress."

"Are you're sure you weren't dreaming?"

"I was not dreaming." She shook her head. "Gan was there, he saw me." Blake looked at Gan, his gaze challenging, demanding, accusing even.

"Well, I saw something." The big man was trying, in vain, to stay neutral and avoid triggering a fight. An impossible task aboard Liberator. "But she definitely was not asleep." Blake tapped his reading pad in an erratic staccato rhythm, thinking.

"Anything on the long range scanners Zen?"

"Negative."

"What about from the planet?"

"Negative."

"Our scanners do not have the ability to sense a knife in the back, Blake. We must go down to check on them."

"No." Blake cut her off. "We stick to the plan."

"Even if that means their deaths." Cally challenged. Behind her she could sense Gan's growing agitation. Hear his sighs of frustration. If there was one thing that Gan hated more than arguments it was enforced inaction.

"We don't know that they ARE in trouble Cally." Blake snapped. "Can you tell me for sure that what you felt was real and not just some dream or hallucination, because until you can we are staying right here and sticking to the plan." She was defeated and she knew it. When Blake wanted to be ferocious he could be very effective. Still, she thought as she strode angrily off the flight deck, Blake was not the only one with some ferocity of action within him. She did not need him to operate the teleport, Jenna would do that. Jenna did not have the same need to over protect her crew, and indeed seemed not to care one way or the other most of the time.

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Jenna was in the teleport area as Avon had requested. She was studiously pulling apart a small fire arm piece by meticulous piece and setting the parts out on the teleport consol. The appearance she gave was of intense concentration, oblivious to everything around her. Cally knew, from experience that that was not true. Like much of the face Jenna showed to the world, it was merely a facade.

"Anything I can do for you Cally?" She did not look up, having already 'sensed' a presence. Sometimes Cally thought Jenna may have some Auron blood somewhere in her chequered Earth lineage. Lord knew she had bits of everything else.

"Yes." Cally said concealing her Auronar weapons about her person, and zipping up her heavy jacket. "You can teleport me down to the planet. Vila's original position should do nicely."

"What?" That got the smuggler's attention. "Why?"

"Avon and Vila are in trouble."

"How do you know? If they had called in I'd know about it."

"I just know." Cally was not going to be drawn into another useless argument. Instead she pulled a bracelet from the rack and snapped it around her wrist. "Now are you going to teleport me down or not?"

"Have you told Blake about this?"

"Yes. He did not believe me either. Now, teleport me down. You can tell Blake that I forced you to do it if you like." The smuggler's eyes narrowed a fraction as she stared at Cally. She was confused, Cally could sense it, and it was an emotion she detested.

"You are that sure? And they mean that much to you -these men that you hardly know?"

"I am. And they do." Cally responded. Jenna pursed her lips in a moment of indecision, and then suddenly began restoring the little gun back to its original configuration so fast, and with such ease that it looked like child's play. Cally knew that it was anything but. She then surprised Cally by activating the teleport attempting to bring the men back aboard. The bay glowed white but nothing formed. She deactivated it.

"It was worth a try." She explained. "Well, you'll need someone who knows the ground. I grew up around places like this one."

"Why?"

"I'm bored with the quiet life?"

"What about Blake?"

"Well," Jenna smiled, mischievous and anything but innocent. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Gan?" She spoke into the intercom. "Come to the teleport area would you?"

"Be right there Jenna."

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Blake rubbed his eyes. The words were blurring on the screen in front of him. Becoming strings of incomprehensible wavy lines. He was tired and his leg was starting to ache like a bitch. He was due for more pain killers but resisted. Liberator's medical supplies were the best he'd ever seen or even dreamt about but the aliens who invented it all still had not been able to come up with a heavy pain killer that did not make him crash into oblivion for hours. And he needed to think.

He had to be clear headed. Despite what he had told Avon and Vila he was not as convinced of Jarvid as he made out. He was convinced that unity was necessary to defeat the Federation but of the smaller pieces of the puzzle he was not so sure.

He had been the one to contact Jarvid, using an obsolete satellite Zen had detected, to bounce the message out to the frontier. He'd done it with the approval of the rest of his crew, still trying to prove that he was not going to be in the habit of concealing his plans as far as the rebellion went. It had worked. To a degree. Everyone was present, not necessarily out of enthusiastic support however, when he sent the message. The reply had come quickly and succinctly, surprising everyone. Jarvid was willing to join in a united front against the Federation on one condition, that Blake himself prove the offer was genuine by coming to S31 and meeting him face to face. That had created a predictable out cry on the flight deck.

"No way." Vila.

"Sounds risky, it could be trap." Jenna.

"Absolutely no." Vila again, but louder. As usual he was getting ignored.

"Everything we do carries an element of risk. If the Federation is ever to be defeated there will always be risk involved. We cannot shy away." Cally said to Jenna.

"Can we trust this Jarvid?" Gan asked.

Avon said nothing, simply watching the proceedings with predatory stillness. Blake knew that the computer expert was generally taciturn until one of the rebel's plans looked like it may have the impetus to go ahead and then, if he felt he had a chance to stop things, he would pounce, claws out. At the moment he seemed to be satisfied with the direction of the conversation. Which ultimately meant that Blake himself was not.

"Is he with the rebellion?" It was Jenna again. Ever suspicious and practical. "Would he double cross us do you think?"

"Does shit stink?" Vila grumbled from the weapons consol. No one paid him any attention except Avon, who smiled broadly. Blake couldn't see the comedy in it. Avon's sense of humour could be as singular and as unfathomable as the rest of him at times.

"I don't know him personally." Blake admitted, still determined to win over this disparate cynical bunch with raw honesty, even if it was selectively displayed. All it was doing at the moment, however, was making Avon smile. Or making him snarl. Sometimes it was hard to tell. "But, I have known about him for quite some time. I also have enough character references from others that I trust to believe that he and we share the same vision. To free ourselves from the Federation. So no, I don't think he would double cross us."

"You didn't answer her question Blake." Avon was leaning forward now, hands braced either side of the tactical consol. Gaze direct and expressionless, but dangerous as a razor's edge. Blake looked unapologetically into the dark eyes, matching the threat with a show of dismissive bravado, and said, "No, he isn't with the rebellion. S31 is an ex penal planet that the Federation let go some years ago, one that is now targeted for annexation, Jarvid's only interested in preventing S31 from coming under Federation control. Just so happens our goals coincide."

"How convenient." The computer expert blinked deliberately, making it look like an insult. "And what makes this Jarvid so strategically valuable that you would stoop so low as to consort with some one so," that smile again, "'self interested'?"

"Yes," Jenna leaned forward. "That's a good point Blake, why is he so important?"

"S31 is in sector 9."

"So?" Jenna frowned. Irritated with the vagueness.

"Ah, laser grade solium quartz." Avon nodded. "Sector 9 is unusually rich in quartz of the highest quality. It is used for light weight Federation weaponry and therefore, it is extremely valuable. They have found deposits on S31 I take it?"

"Yes." Blake nodded. "Just a few months ago. The Federation is already making plans to move in."

"Double whammy!" Jenna nodded with a bright smile that very nearly masked the fast calculations going on behind her eyes. Not necessarily the egalitarian type of mathematics either. Blake wished he really knew where his pilot's loyalties lay. Unlike Avon at times she could be quite enthusiastically behind the Cause, and at others he was as unsure of her as he was of the computer expert. This time she seemed to be behind him however. "Get Jarvid on the right side and deny the Federation a few thousand guns. Seems very reasonable."

"Jarvid plans to stop the Federation so that he can take possession of the deposits?" Avon had ignored Jenna.

"No." Blake said. "He wants to remain free of the Federation, that is all."

"Of course." Avon rolled his eyes, somehow making it look very regal and Blake had to struggle to put a cap on his irritation. Fighting with Avon was never his first choice. The man was rare in Blake's experience in that, despite being physically smaller, he could match his own ferocity snarl for growl. Blake had never quite had the balls to see how far Avon would go if he let things escalate to their ultimate end. He was not sure, and even less so since he had briefly scanned Avon's past history from the Federation wanted files, that he could win. In fact, he was not sure he would actually survive. It was a relief to know that the computer expert, like the machines he tried so hard to emulate, was bound by similar unbending rules. Strict codes of rationality that precluded emotion based action. That combined with a generally mild temperament (no matter how hard he tried to hide it), made the danger manageable. Provided Blake could keep their arguments from boiling over into real rage, and he had the others on side, he was sure that he could keep control of Avon. But at times the urge to let things escalate out of sheer frustration was nearly overwhelming.

Despite it all though Blake got his way. So here they were, in orbit around S31, twiddling their thumbs waiting for Avon and Vila to report that they had contacted Jarvid. If they could find him. If they were still in one piece. He remembered Cally's dire warning and, upon reflection, realised that his reaction hadn't been very trusting. No good trying to make this crew cohesive if he was too blunt with his own misgivings. Better to lead by example. He should go and talk to her. Rising awkwardly to his feet Blake activated the little support field on the leg cast and limped off the flight deck, heading for Cally's cabin.

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"You grew up in THESE type of places?" Cally was horrified. Standing ankle deep in refuse and mud, surrounded by poor creatures only vaguely resembling people, and nearly retching from the stench of decay Cally could not, would not, believe it. They had been walking around down here for more than an hour, getting Jenna's bearings apparently, and she still could not grasp it. Jenna, on the other hand, was not bothered at all. Apart from her hand resting lightly upon her gun she showed no signs of discomfort.

"I said AROUND not IN." She corrected. "Come on. This way."

"But the bar is back that way?"

"That's why we go this way. Sometimes the fastest way between two points is not a straight line. Particularly if you want to keep breathing." And Cally was left watching Jenna stride off into the crowds. The pilot was becoming more and more a force to be reckoned with in Cally's eyes. Her camouflage of glamorous beauty, and the ability to use that physicality as effectively as any conventional weapon, was to be more and more admired, for it hid a street smart razor's edge personality as effectively as Avon's mask of indifference hid... Cally caught herself. What was she about to say? That the aloof alpha was hiding a soul? That he actually cared, but could not bring himself to express it? Was that true? Would she ever know without spontaneously developing the true empathy she told Blake she did not possess? Or was it that she WANTED to believe that there was something still human surviving behind the snarl that he turned on the galaxy? She was, she admitted reluctantly to herself, curious. Very curious.

Cally pulled herself out of her speculation in time to catch sight of Jenna, well ahead, pushing through the thin crowds to a market stall diagonally across from the bar but further down the street. From there it was possible to get a good, if oblique, view of the target but remain out of direct sight. The stall was constructed of a bench, four tall support poles and a sheet of some poly carbonate material to keep away the rain and most of the wind. The wares, mostly junk from skimmers and refuse dumps, were laid out neatly in rows of six. Most of them had been cleaned and coated recently. The owner looked up as they approached. A thin, dishevelled, but ultimately clean woman of about 60. Her eyes were pale, red rimmed and teary. She did not get up from her seat, but those worn out eyes watched intently. Jenna, for her part, did not even acknowledge her presence, but rather, looked briefly at the items on offer.

"Nice." The pilot finally offered. "You really know your stuff. Takes a pro to know how to clean out a burner filter." The woman said nothing, but her scrutiny of Jenna intensified. Jenna returned in kind. "You have a real eye for detail."

"What you need?" The woman's Standard was poor, but her instincts were bang on. "You ain't ere for nothin I got. You wanna play silly buggers go on down t' the play house, got no time for that bullshit. I ain't got nothin for yer ere." She began fussing with her merchandise. Lifted and inspected a coil with exaggerated concentration. Dismissing them.

"Maybe." Jenna replied. "Maybe. Then again maybe you've got what I want elsewhere?"

"Wuh." The woman huffed derisively. She shifted in her seat. Agitated and suddenly nervous. Her eyes slid around the immediate area, straying more than once to the bar. Suspicious, looking for a set up. "I ain't no Mouth. You c'n jus fuck ov now. I ain't got nothin for you ere."

"I think you have." Jenna kept smiling and turned her palm over, covertly displaying a small gold nugget. The woman's gaze flickered over the object. "The question is, will you supply it?"

"Mebbe I got somethin out back. I got all sorts parts out back." The woman replaced the coil with the same flourish as she had picked it up. Cally saw the pilot's back stiffen slightly and wondered why. She scanned the area herself but saw nothing. Jenna did not even look, but she was alert, tense as the coil the woman had been playing with.

The pilot's eyes flicked up momentarily to take in 'out the back.' It was invisible from the street, behind heavy layers of sheeting. She smiled and shook her head. "I don't think so. All I want is information."

"Info'mat'n? Ain't nobody bin wantin info'mat'n 'cept trouble makers. Makin' trouble for me an mine." 'Mine'? Cally could not imagine this one having any 'mine' except in her dreams? The woman hacked and spat as if warding off evil. "Now go away."

"No trouble." Jenna said. Another nugget appeared next to the first. The old woman licked her lips and stared. Greed and fear were obviously spreading their conflicting webs. She looked up and down the street, swift eyes moving rapidly, her head remaining still. Greed sprung its netting and caught hold.

"Gimmie." The woman held out her hand nodding.

"Tell me what I want to know first."

"Give it!" The woman demanded.

"Not yet."

"Yes, yet." A group of very greasy looking men had suddenly materialized out of the crowd and were surrounding them. The speaker was a grimy young man, maybe 25, with familiar rumy eyes and a stick figure profile. It had to be the woman's son. Cally moved for her gun but found her arm grabbed and pinned behind her back by another thug. "Now do as me Mum says." The old woman made a dry cackling sound, her grin corpse like. Jenna did not move, continuing to smile at her, relaxed and unflustered. "Hey bitch I talkin to yer! Do it." Jenna still did not move. Cally did not know what the pilot was up to but it didn't seem worth dying for. The young fool was not going to shy away from killing them, or worse.

"Jenna." She appealed.

"Shuddup." The one behind Cally yanked at her arm. The group tittered at her yelp of pain.

"Hey bitch you deef?!" The woman's son grabbed Jenna's shoulder to spin her around. Jenna moved. Fast. No sooner had the paw touched her shoulder that it was twisted up behind its owner's back. The small gun she had been playing with back in the teleport area was pressed under the grimy jaw, digging into the pressure point without mercy. The young thug, eyes bulging with shock, could do nothing but gasp like a landed fish, raised up on his toes to save his arm. Cally couldn't believe it. She had rarely seen anyone actually pull off a manoeuvre like that out side of action vids. Apparently the boy had not seen the same vids.

"Let her go." Jenna looked at Cally's assailant. Cally could feel the man's indecision in a sporadic tightening/loosening of his hold on her trapped wrist. "Do it." The pilot adjusted her grip and her captive screamed, yet was still unable to move. And then Cally was free. She moved rapidly to the pilot's side and drew her firearm, using her uninjured arm, pinning the sights on the old woman. Her other arm was tingling but did not seem seriously damaged. "Now, " Jenna said, eyes still pinned on the gang surrounding them, "as I was saying. You have information that I need."

"What does yer wan?" All humour had fled and the woman sat stiffly in her chair. The gang moved about uneasily, not sure what to do without instruction. It was a welcome flaw.

"Who runs that bar down the street?"

"Seb Shunter."

"Arran's son?" Jenna sounded surprised but her grip on her captive did not flinch.

"Tha same. Bin runnin tha entire op'rat'n eva since 'e knocked orf 'is fahva last year. Drown'd 'im in his own beer, 'e did."

"Mph, like father like son. No imagination. No guts."

"Heh!" The old woman choked off a laugh. "I'd say 'e's got guts enuf fer the likesa you out worlder's."

"You mean like he took care of the other two? Heard they weren't much of a match."

"Word travel's fast?" The old woman clearly did not believe Jenna's bluff. Luckily she felt she had no choice but to continue to supply information. "Seb's lot did them boys in real quick, but 'e lost some of 'is best doin' it." A feral calculating gleam warmed her pale eyes. "Seb's a fuckin' crimmo but 'e's gather'd about 'im some dumb shits. Anyone coulda seen them boys was not to be messed wit', 'specially the dark one. 'Ed make a proper general for Seb, 'e would. Killed onea Seb's baddest no problem."

"Did they kill them?"

"No, them lot is so dumb. Messed the dark one up pretty nasty. If 'es still alive now I'd eat me own knickers." Cally felt ill, not at all pleased that she had been right. But she sensed the old woman was telling the truth, they were still alive. She knew it. "They took 'em into the bar and they ain't come out yet."

"Seb's not here?"

"Nah, dunno where 'e is." She looked up at Jenna with a smug knowing smile. "If you's gonna go git yer boys I'd do it real soon. They won't last long once 'e does come back." Jenna did not acknowledge her insight. The slight went unnoticed.

"What's it like inside the bar? What kind of defences do they have?"

"Now that IS worth more than me own life, an' me boy's combined. If Seb catches wind we telled anyone anything he'd do worse'n kill us."

"If you don't tell me I'LL do worse than kill you, and I'm standing right here." Jenna replied, her voice hardening. The old woman merely laughed.

"You ain't got it in ya girl. If you did you'da killed me boy already." Her son stiffened in alarm. "Now, I telled yer all I'm gonna tell yer so yer can piss orf." After a second's thought Jenna sent her captive tumbling into the mud with a well placed kick. He fell, clutching his arm yelling for his boys to attack. Jenna shook her head, gun still steady but this time pointed in their direction. They stayed back.

"One last thing." Jenna asked the old woman. "If Seb is so dangerous why did you tell me anything at all." The old woman laughed abruptly, smug and superior.

"You dain't mean Seb well, he havin' yer boys an' all, and yer does handle yerself alright so yer might stand a good chance t' kill 'im. An if yer does there'll be plenty ready to take over 'is business."

"You, for example?" Jenna grinned. The old woman merely laughed and began fussing with her wares again. Guns raised, Cally and Jenna pushed through the ring of goons and slipped into the market crowds. The son, still clutching his arm glared impotently at them. Jenna did not acknowledge his presence.

"How do you know Arran?" Cally asked, once out of earshot.

"You don't want to know."

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Blake limped through the ship in growing agitation. He couldn't find Cally anywhere and she didn't seem the type to sulk. He'd only known her for a handful of weeks but already he thought of her as more of the action type, full of self conviction. (Her survival on Saurian Major was testament to that). Faced with adversity she was one to rise to the occasion, not run and hide... A thought occurred... Oh dammit. She wouldn't. She wouldn't. He changed direction to the teleport area and increased his speed. She wouldn't. But he knew in his gut that she already bloody had.

Gan was sitting behind the teleport consol checking that everything was in place with that slow measured scrutiny of his. The one that would drive Avon mad whenever he had to teach the big man anything. It was probably the reason why Blake could not resist sending Avon in as tutor whenever he could manage it.

"Where's Cally?" Blake barked. It startled Gan and he sat up with a start. "Has she gone down to the surface?"

"Uh." Gan blushed a little. "Well, she, uh, I mean."

"Dammit!"

"She was very sure of what she felt Blake. I mean, how do we know what these Auron's are capable of? She might be right."

"She should have known better. We're sitting ducks here until Avon locates Jarvid, and having her down there as well just adds to our chances of being found. And delays us getting away."

"I'm sure she will be careful. She's very capable."

"That's not the point Gan." Blake rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. He should have paid her more serious attention, he could have prevented this. Poor leadership, it was just poor leadership. "Where's Jenna, isn't she supposed to be on duty?"

Gan blushed and Blake sighed in defeat. He knew when to roll with the punches, it was one of the more annoying aspects of leading any group, with this one however it was becoming the norm. He had to review his tactics.

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"Cally. Jenna. Respond." They were putting a safe distance between them and the old woman's sphere of influence when Cally's communicator spoke. It was Blake. He did not sound angry. Jenna nodded at her and, slipping into a vacant alcove, Cally raised the bracelet to her lips.

"Cally here."

"Have you found them?" Cally was surprised. No recriminations? No anger? Blake was proving more flexible than she had thought he was. That was a refreshing change from the leaders she had had dealings with on Saurian Major.

"No, but we have confirmed that they have been taken captive."

"By whom? Are they still alive?"

"For the time being." Jenna broke in. "A charming fellow by the name of Seb Shunter has them. At least his little posse does. They are somewhere inside the bar."

"Well, can you get them out?"

"I don't think so. At least not alone. If Seb is anything like his old man, and from what we've found out I think that is more than likely, then he'll be armed to the teeth and that place will have every kind of weapon he could have gotten his hands on this miserable mud ball. He always liked to be safe."

"Dammit." Blake swore. "Alright, Jenna you stay down there and keep watch on the bar. Cally, you come back up here. I think I know where I can get us some help, but I'll need you up here."

"Alright." Cally was feeling a little swept off her feet. Blake was changing his stance too rapidly for her to get a grip on. "Will you be alright down here alone Jenna?"

"Just peachy."

"You are a strange woman Jenna Stanis." Cally chided, but with respect in her voice.

"So I've been told."

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Jenna slipped back into the crowds after Cally had gone back up and made her way to a small dive offering refreshments at tables outside. From there she had an unimpeded view of the bar.

"Black tea. Hot. VERY hot." She told the dirty looking waiter as he stared at her chest. He nodded, took one last tedious leering gawp and shambled inside. That was one of the reasons she hadn't frequented places like this for a long time. They just had no style, no subtly. The men seemed to literally have only two things on their mind: getting blasted, and getting laid. Cretinous. It was a relief to be on Liberator in that respect, but only marginally.

She watched the crowds go by, stared at the bar and waited for her tea to arrive.

This was going to be messy. She couldn't see a way around that. Arran had always been a kill first, talk about it later type of thug and it seemed his son was the same. Combine that with an obsession with guns, bombs, drugs and violence and it was just going to get very very messy.

If they went ahead with it that is, she brooded. If she didn't just report back that Vila and Avon were dead. Would Cally know? Would she sense that she was lying? That bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She liked the Auron woman and it would be a real pity to come to blows with her. But it was very tempting. Getting rid of Avon, and, as much as she was growing to like the little thief, removing his accident prone arse from the picture as well was very appealing. Yes, they both had valuable talents but Liberator had enough wealth on board to buy a hundred less dangerous computer experts and a thousand less idiotic kleptomaniacs.

Getting rid of Avon was the real treat in this fantasy. The bastard was dangerous. On every level. He was intelligent, ruthless, self absorbed and self sufficient enough not to need any of them eventually. Then they would be relying on his good will not to kill them all in their sleep and steal Liberator. Good luck! He had tried to ditch Blake once already and would, no doubt, try again. This time, after killing her first. Getting rid of Avon would be the icing on a very convenient cake.

But then there was Blake. As much as she liked the man he had an annoying habit of needing to see bodies to believe in death. A problem. One that looked insurmountable at the moment. The waiter arrived with her tea and leered again, until she put her hand over her gun. He was smarter than he looked, he took the hint, dropped the sneer and shambled away. Still, if what that old woman had said was true, then corpses maybe all they would get out of this anyway. A lot of work would be put into a useless end. Try telling Blake that though, she grimaced to herself.

Blake. A problem by definition. She would say a thorn in her side, but she respected the rebel too much to say that. He had an undeniable likeability about him. Straight forward, compassionate, and relentlessly holding up a cause most would buckle under. Three aspects missing, or in woefully short supply in any man she had ever come in contact with before. And she liked it, instantly. It was what had drawn her to him in the first place. There were plenty of men on the London, they out numbered the women by 10 to 1 at least, but he had stood out to her eye immediately. In every way.

It was unfortunate that his choice of lover was an ideal, not a person. And he had focus only for his chosen mistress and her very demanding needs. He did not even seem to notice any other. Hell she'd tried it on enough times herself, so that now, short of throwing him down on the deck and jumping him there wasn't much else left she could do. She grinned. The thought struck her as funny. She could imagine the scene, physically launching herself at Blake, bearing him to the ground as the others looked on in shock. Not even Avon would be able to keep a straight face. She sighed, the image dissipating into the stinking city. Nope, it was just her luck that the one man she'd ever met whom she ever really wanted just for himself was not to be hers. He was already taken.

She sipped her tea and forcibly turned her thoughts to matters at hand.

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Vila was in hell. A dark, cold, stinking hell straight out of detention centre horror stories. He huddled, miserable in the dark, uselessly clutching a wrist now devoid of his precious teleport bracelet. This was all Avon's fault. No, he glanced down at the unconscious pain in the arse 'genius', this was all BLAKE'S fault. He shouldn't even be here. He hadn't agreed to any of this stupidity. And now here he was tossed into a stinking frigid pit to await god knew what, all alone. Well, Avon was here, but he was never the best of company even healthy, and healthy he definitely was not. Essentially alone then. "Ooooh." He moaned to himself, starting to rock. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. They were going to die. With Blake and the others all cosy back on Liberator, totally oblivious to their plight. Back on board warm, comfy Liberator. Hot food. Warm bed. Soma. Soooooma... Mmmm. Dammit!

He looked down at Avon. The man was lying on his back pretty much where he'd been dumped. Vila had not had time to think of him, not with all the shouting, begging and deal making he'd been doing, trying to get out of this dungeon. He looked up at the shaft that they had been dumped down. It was nearly a three metre drop from the back room floor straight down into the mud. Lucky it was soft mud. Avon had not even woken up after landing on top of the thief. It was not a good sign. He should probably check the alpha out, make sure he wasn't choking on his own tongue and all that. He'd already tried talking him around, telling him to wake up. It hadn't worked, so he should probably do more. He probably should. Probably.

Then again why should he? Avon had treated him like crap ever since they'd hooked up with Blake. Making not so subtle threats interspersed with moments of cold observation that made his blood run cold. It was no small thing to be watched by Avon. It reminded him of some of the older, more twisted boys in the detention centres. Predatory in the sickest sense. Not that he thought Avon capable or interested in that sort of thing (his Federation files would have noted it), but it reminded him of the Fear. The unique kind that came with being hunted, stalked, by someone who was bigger, tougher and smarter, knew it and was getting some sick kind of thrill out of scaring him. Avon may not be THAT kind of sicko but he had plans of some sort. The last several weeks had put him back into a time and place he'd sooner forget. So stuff Avon. Let him choke.

Vila huddled against the wall and wondered what was taking Blake so long. The big rebel wouldn't leave them here he was sure of it. Kind of. Blake had come through so far there was no reason he wouldn't now. No reason at all. Keep it together Restal, he chided, no need to go looking for doubts at a time like this. No, Blake would come, he would. He had to. What if he didn't? No! Don't think like that. Stop it. All he had to do was wait. Just wait, and stay alive. Blake would do the rest.

He pulled out his lucky coin and began some flexibility exercises, running it up and down the knuckles on each hand. Over and over. Fast and easy. Over and over.

"Mph!" What was that! Vila dropped the coin. Shit, what if there was someone down here with them. Or something. Out there, in the dark. He pressed back against the wall, sliding closer to Avon. A soft sigh to his left, down low. Shit!

"Avon?" He queried. The prone man stirred a little. "Avon are you awake in there? Oh, come on, don't leave me in suspense now, there's a good chap." Avon muttered something that sounded like analyse, or annihilate, or anna-something and rolled onto his side, pulling in his limbs. "Avon?"

"'E awake then ay?" The hard voice was accompanied by a wet thud as something heavy was dropped down the shaft. Vila recoiled. Oh fuck, one of the nasty mob was in here with him! He scrambled backward mute with fear. The big bastard moved forward a sinister smile on his broad face. He kept on advancing until he was towering over the little thief, obviously enjoying the fear he was creating. Vila froze. The thug bent down until they were face to face. Shit, Blake, if you're gonna make an entrance, now would be a good time. Fear sweat clouded his face. Blake... The thug stared, small blue eyes hard and tainted with something Vila recognised all too well. Oh fuck no. Not again. He felt the familiar paralysis creep over his limbs. A long moment passed and then another. With each passing second Vila's heart moved one beat closer to fibrillation and failure. "BOO!"

"ARGH!" Vila yelled, terrified. His paralysis broke and he, somehow, fled passed the sicko and was down deep in the darkness of the fartherest region of the cell before he realised it. Crouching, low and foetal against the wall. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure the whole galaxy could hear it. Was sure the man could hear it and was just playing with him by ignoring it. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

From his corner he watched the thug turn his attention to Avon, kick at him. Avon groaned, a terrible sound. Vila shrank as small as he could get and watched them haul Avon out of the cell and back into the bar. Once they were gone the darkness closed in. Cold, oppressive and final. He started to shake, hard. "Where are you Blake?" He moaned softly to himself.

He tried not to cry. If didn't cry then it wasn't so bad. Not so final. Tears were for the doomed. He would not cry. He squeezed his eyes shut, rested his head back against the wall, and took a deep breath. No crying. No crying. Then he rolled his head to the left and met the neighbours.

Or what was left of them.

"No, no, no!" He bolted for the second time, back into the light from the shaft. Too terrified to think. He started to cry. Big, heaving, desperate howls that filled a place all to familiar with them.

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Liberator was circling a dying sun. The red glare of the solar flares were getting stronger as it burned up the last of its fuel. They licked the hull of the ship as if tasting it. Avon looked around the flight deck. He was the only one there. That was odd. He thumbed the link: "Blake?" No answer. "Jenna? Cally? Gan? Vila?" Nothing.

It was getting warm in here.

"Zen what is going on?"

"Please be more specific." The ship's computer answered mildly.

"Zen, where are the others? The crew?"

"Unable to answer question. No data."

"Are they on board?"

"Unable to answer question. No data."

"What about our course then? What is our destination?"

"Unable to answer question. No data."

"Zen, clarify previous remark." Nothing. The wall monitor continued to hum and flash. He could feel the energy humming through the facade. Nothing. "Well, come on! Zen! Answer me dammit!"

"Answer me dammit!" Zen responded. "Answer me! Answer me!" It chanted the phrase over and over, modulating, changing becoming harsher. It grated painfully against his skin. Abrasive. It was inside his skull. He covered his ears. It made no difference. It wouldn't stop.

Avon staggered to his flight position and crashed into the seat. He had to stop this. Stop it. Stop it. The ship lurched.

Gravity well.

The ship was too close to the damned sun, they were going to spiral right into it. Already the ship's environmental controls were disintegrating. The heat from the sun was filling the flight deck. He had to pull himself together or there would be no chance left at all.

None of the controls responded. Zen was not responding, it was still chanting the painfully twisted words until they ceased to have meaning.

"ANSWER ME!"

The ship bucked violently throwing him against the controls. Hot sparks burst against his skin. He clung to the consol with the last bit of strength he had whilst it tried to use him as a punching bag.

"ANSWER ME!"

There was nothing he could do. This was it.

How ironic, Avon bared his teeth in a parody of a smile, he was going to die, with nothing but a mad computer for company.

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Gan checked the teleport controls one more time, being careful to manoeuvre his broad fingers precisely. They were set and ready to pick up the others at a moment's notice. He hoped his reflexes were just as ready. Before the Limiter was implanted he would have said that they were, now, however, everything was dulled. Thought, action, reaction, everything. It was like looking through a window that had suddenly been covered in dust. He gingerly touched the implant with his finger tips. The Federation surgeons working for the criminal justice system were not usually the best and brightest, they were mostly those unable to get employment anywhere else. A lot of their problem was incompetence, some was temperament or with some a lack of connections. Whatever the problem this time he was convinced that they had not been too careful putting the control circuits into his brain. No one had said anything but he knew, deep in his heart, that something was not right. He couldn't remember learning new things ever being as difficult as they were now. Or the most menial mental task requiring so much effort. Avon was right, he was slow. Slow and stupid. Anger spread warmth through his belly but he stopped it out of habit. If he got too angry the Limiter would cut in, paralyse his muscles, and leave the others in danger without teleport. He let his breath out in one relaxing whoosh.

He was not a violent man; that was the irony of this situation. He was large, he knew it. And, truth be told he had used that on occasion, but he'd never needed to actually harm anyone. People were intimidated just looking at him, and he being of the lower classes the upper class powers that be were the most intimidated of all. He was used to being regarded with a little fear, perhaps a little jealousy, by his Alpha overlords but he had not realised the depth of their feeling until IT had happened. Until he had turned on his woman's murderer and literally torn him to pieces without even breaking a sweat. Gan was as shocked as everyone else. He had not suspected he was capable of such things. He was horrified. But, in that moment of uncontrollable rage the more frightened of the alpha elite saw their chance to put him back in his place (he hadn't been aware he had been out of it) by installing the Limiter. It was an unnecessary cruelty devised by the dead man's alpha relatives. They had already decided to send him to Signis Alpha, there was no need to put him in ever lasting shackles as well, but they had and here he was. A stupid, brain damaged lump who couldn't even be trusted to operate the most basic of Liberator's systems.

It was pathetic but he would beat it. He had beaten his jailers already just by getting off Signus Alpha in one piece, and Blake seemed to want him around. Gan appreciated that. No one had wanted him around for a long time and he liked to be wanted, liked to be useful. Now he had the chance, not only to be wanted, but to actually do something useful, something noble even, for a cause bigger than any of his problems could ever be. His worries, his difficulties disappeared into obscurity whenever he tried to get his head around it. He was dwarfed by Blake's ideal and he welcomed the feeling. So he would do his job, whatever it took, and live up to Blake's expectations, and surpass Avon's, if he blew a fuse doing it (which, he chuckled, was not as facetious as it sounded!).

He carefully looked over the settings, running each panels' functions through his mind again. The others would not be put in danger because of him, not if he still had breath in his body. He hoped they were alright. He was not so worried about Avon, the arrogant Alpha could take care of himself, but Vila was another story. As annoying as the little man could be Gan liked him, and he was worried. Vila had an uncanny habit of attracting the wrong kind of attention, he had seen that on the London. The real nasties, the ones with warped genes, the most twisted predators all had him pegged as an easy mark. He was a slight man with a naturally gentle air about him, despite his years in the Federation penal system, and so for all appearances the obvious prey. And he was sure that this ex-penal planet was teeming with inbred psychopaths that would eat the little thief for dinner. He clenched his fists in frustration. He should have made Jenna and Cally take him down with them instead of following instructions again like some damned sheep. He should be down there helping. It had been alright on the London, one glare, maybe one or two shows of strength, had kept the bastards away from his friend, but now Vila was as good as on his own. He could not picture Avon looking after him, the computer expert seemed to hold Vila in greater contempt than he did Gan himself.

All he could do at the moment, however, was wait and be ready, so he would do it and do it well, without flaw, and be ready to go to the rescue should he be needed.

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Vila had cried himself out hours ago and still Avon had not returned. He was still sitting under the shaft of light afraid now to move out of it. Who knew what other terrible things were lurking out there in the dark, more corpses, perhaps other things more terrifying, like ghouls or ghosts of prisoner's past!

He believed in ghosts and ghouls with all his heart. Despite every attempt by the Federation psychiatrists to erase this stupid, irrational delusion he never had. They had kept him in a re-education facility for two months once, trying to eradicate it, telling him that such primitive superstitious behaviour would eventually lead to a need for the corruption of religion from which the only escape was death or banishment. A not so subtle threat. Eventually they gave in and that was the turning point in his life. From then on he was considered a lost cause and he was on a fast slide to the oblivion of Signus Alpha. Something wrong with his head they said. Something incorrectable. Something faulty with his genes. A throwback to the dark times before the new calendar.

They were probably right, but that wasn't really helping at the moment. He was terrified, alone, covered in mud, cold and surrounded by angry souls looking for vengeance. And Blake was taking his sweet time getting here. He needed Gan. One growl from that walking behemoth and no ghoul would dare try to suck his brains out.

Gan had looked out for him on the London, and later on, and still was. It was very reassuring that someone that intimidating had his back. It wasn't necessary, but it was comforting. Gan had been convinced that he was in mortal danger from the twisted creepies amongst the prisoners on board, but Vila knew otherwise. He hadn't survived a life time in the delta grade penal system by chance after all. It had been nice and convenient to have Gan by his side, but it really hadn't been crucial.

Most people didn't know, and he didn't want them to, that he could easily handle himself in almost all situations. If any of the goons on the London had tried anything he had been ready almost from the start. Unbeknownst to anyone he had been armed, a makeshift shiv slipped inside his sleeve, and a small needle jammed into the heel of his boot. He had made both in the holding cells before boarding and he knew how to use them. Effectively. But, it was not something he advertised, and not something he really wanted to put to use. Despite his knowledge he did not like violence, his weapons were for defence only. And only after playing the fool had failed.

He couldn't believe how long he'd had to play the idiot with this lot, but try as he might he still did not feel safe enough to drop the act. Besides, the added advantage of being able to act as terrified as he really was, without raising any real ire from the crew, was quite a relief considering all the stress Blake kept creating. Avon, on the other hand, must be one giant knot of creaking tension by now. Maybe. If anything human was still alive in there.

Thinking of the alpha he remembered his situation and cringed. What nasty things were they up to up there? They'd have for sure discovered all of Avon's personal armoury and looted it. The only person on Liberator more laden with weaponry than himself was the computer expert. He hid it all very well but Vila could tell. A subtle restriction of movement, the minute stiffness in a sleeve, the favouring of the left or right when entering a room, behaving too confidently in certain situations. They all added up. By his reckoning Avon was armed to the teeth at all times. Unfortunately for them at the moment, he did not carry a gun. He seemed to favour knives, fighting sticks and mono-filament wires. All close combat weapons requiring a high level of training. A chillingly telling choice of weaponry. Jenna on the other hand preferred light arms, small blasters that could be hidden in the cuff of a jacket or lip of a boot. The only knife she carried was placed so that the flick of wrist would have you pinned by your ear to the bulk head. Cally stuck to her auronar style arms some of which Vila did not know the function of, yet. Of the ones he could identify they were also projectile weapons but she was not always armed. On board Liberator she never seemed to carry more than her substantial knowledge of hand to hand combat. Trusting soul.

That left Blake and Gan, neither of which were armed with more than what any untrained eye could see, namely the Liberator's alien hand guns, and then only when trouble was at hand. Gan didn't really need them in his day to day life, his mere presence seemed to be enough, and at other times his own good nature seemed to colour his perception of what others were capable of. Gullible and sad. The Federation had misread the man. He may have committed murder but he was not a murderer. The Limiter could not have any function except to prevent him from legitimately defending himself. Sending him to Signus Alpha on top of that was just cruel.

As for Blake, he was never armed simply because he did not think that way. He was not the good Samaritan Gan was. Vila had seen the blood lust spring into his eyes whenever he went up against the enemy and he had seen him go looking for trouble at times, seen him almost enjoy it. No, Blake went unarmed because he had not been raised in conditions where being armed on a daily basis was necessary. His file said that he was an engineer, born and raised in the calm banality of the alpha working class. If he'd wanted to learn the deadly arts he'd have had to go looking for it - he evidently hadn't. Not like Avon. He may have been Alpha but he'd been part of one of the oldest families in the Federation. Old money, old power, old grudges. From childhood he'd been forcibly trained in violence, and from his choice of personal weaponry he had taken to it with gusto, a real child of the Federation. Not for the first time Vila wondered what had gone wrong.

Now that he had exorcised his distress, and reminded himself that he could indeed look after himself, he was ready if that bloody thug tried anything again. Hopefully. One opening was all he needed. But as for the ghouls, they were not going to be so easily overcome. He'd need something to placate them. A promise perhaps. Yes. A promise.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat and spoke into the darkness. "Hello there, er, everyone. Hello. How are you, alright? Er, stupid question sorry, of course you're not alright. Sorry." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Look, I know that there are a lot of you out there wanting revenge. That mob up there leaving you all to die down here I mean. You want revenge, a life for a life hey? I can understand that I really can but, I'm not the enemy see. I'm one of you. I'm not the enemy." He paused trying to evaluate things. He couldn't feel any change in the air. "Maybe you noticed that bastard down here before, not exactly friendly to me was he. You wouldn't want to eat me would you, not if we're on the same side and all that?" Silence. "Look, how about if I made you a deal. You leave me alone whilst I'm down here and I can help you get your revenge. I know I screwed up when that thug was down here before but I'm ready now. He comes down here again I'll take him out for you. How'd you like that?" Silence. "Silence indicates consent you know?" He prompted. "I'll take that as a yes then. Phew. I knew you were a reasonable bunch." He exhaled in relief. So far so good. Then a thought occurred. "Erm, one other thing. Now that you've all - passed on - you don't really need your bedding and that sort of thing do you. Would you mind?" Silence. "Thankyou. Much appreciated."

He edged into the darkness keeping up a reassuring patter and discovered several more corpses some in better condition than others. Where he could he started collecting a pile of useful things. A semi flexible sheet of old plastic, a couple of mouldy blankets nearly rotten right through, a tin cup, and a bunch of old clothing, much of it rotted, that he stripped off the more recent corpses. It was nauseating work. By the time he was done he felt shaky and ill but he persisted and hauled the meagre findings back into the light to begin constructing a platform of sorts. Using the plastic as the base he piled up the material as best he could. It was hard to believe that he was going to have to use this. The delta grades may have been hard but at least they had been clean, the kind of plastic and metal existence that did not include mud. Now, here he was, supposedly free of the Federation and all its class privations and he was having to sleep in a pile decomposing crap. Almost made him crave the dorms. Almost.

Gingerly lowering himself onto the 'bed' he was pleasantly surprised to find it an improvement to the mud floor. If marginal. Now all he needed was a steak, a bottle of good wine, any woman that wouldn't slap his face, and to be off this stinking mud ball. He hugged his chest again, trying to conserve heat.

He started to despair again after long, however. Nothing was happening. No Blake, no Gan. No rescue. Nothing. No one. He was alone. Alone. Like those poor souls had been before they'd died. It was very quiet down here, he thought, too quiet, his ears were humming. Had those bastards above taken Avon and left him because they didn't need him. They'd left him to die? Starve.

There was no way out of here, bar the shaft he'd entered by and that was impossible to climb, all soft slimy mud with no place to grip. He'd tried that already anyway, after peeling Avon's dead weight off himself he'd immediately started trying to scale the walls. No go. He'd slipped off repeatedly, much to the amusement of his captors. No way out. It was a concept he had never encountered before. There'd always been a way out of the high-tech Federation cells and lock ups. A lock to pick, a guard to bribe, a vent, a hole, a crack. Now, buried in a primitive muddy hole with unheeding captors he was unable to break out. It was ironic. Mud was coming out the winner over complex electronics!

He was left in an unfamiliar situation: relying on the goodwill of others. Blake, Gan, Cally, even Jenna who he knew despised him. It was disquieting, anxiety provoking. They just had to come. They had to. The alternative was too horrible to think about.

Voices. Above. More than one. Faint laughter. Closer. Closer. He slipped away into the darkness, away from the shaft of light and waited, staring upwards. His rescue? No, unfamiliar dialects and too much swearing. The light flickered as something passed in front of it and Avon was dropped back into the hole. He landed with a wet slap onto the mud. The voices went away.

"Avon?" Vila was so relieved he was embarrassed. Avon was back and he was happy about it? He must be mad, but he didn't care, bad company was better than no company at all. He rushed over to the prone man and pulled him over onto his back. Ouch. More blood and bruises. "Avon?" He lightly slapped the man's face. Nothing. Maybe he was dead? Vila cupped his hand over Avon's mouth and nose and felt the air move. Not dead, just unconscious. Hot though. Fever?

Grunting with the effort Vila dragged Avon onto the platform. He thudded down next to him and looked at his face. In the soft light Avon looked like he should be dead. Blood, mud and bruises. One eye was swollen closed, caked shut with congealed blood. Vila's stomach twisted. What the hell should he do? Cally had tried to instruct him in first aid but he hadn't really listened. Damnit, why hadn't he listened! It was her fault really though. Why did she have to be wearing such a low cut shirt anyway? The view had been far more interesting than the Medical unit diagnostic machinery. Was it his fault that he was the only red blooded male on Liberator? Hell, in between his court cases, incarceration and eventual shipping off to Signus Alpha he hadn't even had the opportunity to talk to any attractive women, let alone get his leg over, in what felt like years. Then Cally had worn that shirt and his brain had slipped completely out of gear, she could have been explaining how she was going to vivisect him and he wouldn't have noticed. It wasn't fair. Now he needed to know what to do and he had no idea.

"Avon, wake up and tell me what to do!" He admonished loudly.

"Not in this life time." Avon said, his voice as harsh as sandpaper. His good eye was open.

"Avon!" Vila exclaimed. Then the words registered. "What do you mean not in this life time - its YOU I bloody want to help?" Silence. Then:

"I don't think so. I tell you and my usefulness is at an end. I keep my mouth shut, I keep breathing." The same slow, deliberate, nearly dead voice. "She doesn't know anything." Then more feverently, teeth bared, a feral bite-your-face-off kind of rage. A silent frieze of violence. "SHE DOESN'T KNOW ANYTHING!"

"Hey?" Vila started, suddenly frightened. What kind of an answer was that? "Avon what are you talking about?" Nothing for so long he thought Avon had passed out again, but then:

"Anna?" Barely a whisper, and fading on the last syllable. It was the last murmur of a dead man; the sound of a lifetime of sadness and despair that went beyond endurance. He stared, appalled to be see such an unguarded moment. The open eye glittered in the pale light, staring at someone, or something, only it could be tormented by. Silence. An emotional volcano was erupting in silence before his eyes and Vila felt gutted by the intensity. Reflexively he shifted away, face burning with the shame of bearing witness. This was not supposed to be happening. Avon was a machine, an unfeeling brutal android, someone so devoid of humanity that he somehow seemed completely outside of it, a rocky, remote island, untouched and untouching and not wanting either. But someone had obviously bridged that monstrous gap, and done it so thoroughly that this man of ice was melting from the inside out, right in front of his eyes. Who the hell could have gotten so thoroughly enmeshed in this bastard's mind that even in delirium he was aware of her, calling for her?

"Who are you Kerr Avon? WHAT are you?"

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Jenna's eyes widened in shock as a man emerged from the Bar. He was dressed in a heavy, grey, mud streaked coat that reached to his boots but even that camouflage could not disguise the precise military stride, nor keep the bulge of a Federation issue sidearm from knowledgeable eyes. Dammit to hell, she'd been right, it WAS a trap. She should have forced the issue with Blake when he'd first aired his plans. Dammit. Tea forgotten she rose from her table and slipped away into the crowds after the man.

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The teleport bay materialized in front of Cally's eyes in a swirl. Blake was absent. Gan looked anxiously at her, trying to assess damage. She smiled at him as she unsnapped her bracelet and placed it in the rack.

"I am well Gan."

"The others?"

"We do not know for sure." That was not really a lie. "But we know they are alive."

"Well, that's something." He relaxed behind the consol. Cally was amazed that he fit behind there. "Blake's on the light deck. He said for you to follow him as soon as you came aboard."

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Consciousness returned with a snap but he did not move. Years of training had altered his reflexes so that even the human frailty upon waking had been largely overcome by concealing it. Such training was one of the few parts of Alpha skills education that he'd found to be of any use over the last few years.

He listened. It was very quiet. Was he back on Liberator? No, the silence here was thick and oppressive. Without knowing why, he suspected he was somewhere underground. Deep underground. He could sense the earth, hear it, taste it with every breath, feel it with his fingertips as he lightly scratched the floor he was lying on.

"Avon?" A faint whisper, so light he almost did not hear it. Coming from just behind his head. He did not respond. Waited. "Avon? Are you awake yet? Oh please wake up. I'm no good on my own. I mean, listen to me, I'm already talking to myself. That's one of the signs of madness isn't it? Or is it when you start getting replies? Or hearing voices. Who said that?! Oh, he he, it was just me.

How long has it been now? I'm sure sleeping this long is not a good sign Avon. Avon? Oh come on. How many times do I have to ask? You're not just being stubborn are you? No. Not even you are THIS stubborn. How long has it been now?

Its dark in here. I'm no good in the dark either. Never have been. Not alone anyway. So please wake up Avon. Wake up."

"I'm awake Vila." Avon said and was surprised when it came out in a scratchy whisper.

"What? Who said that?! Avon? Avon!" Vila's voice moved until it was right next to his face. A thin hand grabbed his shoulder and hung on. For a moment he thought the thief was going to cry, but that did not make any sense. "Avon! What a relief. I thought you'd finally gone and died on me. What took you so long..."

"What's happened?" Avon cut off the thief's waffling. "Where are we?" He opened his eyes, or tried to, his right eye was not cooperating. At least he didn't think that it was. That could be a problem if he needed depth perception in a hurry. Dismissing the injury for more pressing matters he looked around. The room was very dark, the only light was a jaundiced glow coming from a hole in the ceiling near to their position. The sick haze provided poor illumination and he could see very little of the rest of the room. Just some earthen walls, a section of the reinforced ceiling, and the slimy floor, all fading into blackness, bare and featureless. If they offered any means of escape they hid it well.

"Well the good news is that we made it inside the bar." The thief offered, the edge of hysteria disappearing.

"The bad news?" Avon rasped.

"I think that dead man did have friends and we pissed them off. And they didn't take kindly to you killing another four of them either. That really got them mad. They're not very nice people. Not nice at all..." The disembodied voice trailed off, sounding preoccupied with a memory sooner forgotten. Avon had no time for sentiment. He had to know what was going on and he had to know it now.

"Get to the point." He prompted.

"Right, yes, well, after one of them finished venting his spleen on you he got into an argument with another one of them. I couldn't understand their dialect very well, but I think they decided to put off killing us until their leader got back from... Where ever he's gone. Something about a present. Then they shoved us in their cellar for a while. You wouldn't believe what I've found while you've been out Avon." Vila's voice wavered, sounding lost somewhere else once again. "I'm not sure they always remember they put people down here." He paused and Avon could feel the hand on his shoulder bite down harder.

"Vila." He prompted again.

"Anyway, I don't know how much later but two of them came down here and took you away. I thought they were going to leave me down here by myself. Then a while later they brought you back. What happened? Do you remember?"

"No," Avon searched his memory but came up blank. "And we've been down here ever since?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"I don't know. A week maybe? Maybe more. Its getting hard to tell."

A week! That was truly alarming. He had lost an entire week! Things were not looking very good at all. And Vila had not found a way out in all that time? It was unlikely then that there was a way out. Vila may be useless in many ways but his ability to find his way into and out of locked rooms was legendary.

"Help me up." Avon barked. After a moment's hesitation he felt Vila kneel behind him and between the two of them pushed him into a sitting position. Dammit! Hot pain ignited, spread, and arced its way around his rib cage, across the back of his skull and down over his right eye and cheek bone. It got worse and worse. Throbbing. The dull ache made him feel ill, but he fought the nausea knowing that giving in would only escalate the pain. He must have been sitting there a while because Vila said, "maybe this isn't such a good idea Avon."

"If I'm going to die Vila I'd rather do it on my feet," he panted, ridiculously short of breath, "but, I think I will make do with sitting for the moment." He pulled his coat tighter about his shoulders and concentrated on sitting up. He was too weak. Weaker than he had ever felt before in his life. He didn't think there was a part of him that didn't ache, either with perpetual cold or injury.

Vila sat down beside him. "Water?" He offered pushing a tin cup into Avon's free hand. "Don't ask where I got it, you don't want to know. Drink it Avon," Vila's voice commanded from the darkness, "and don't worry about disease, you've been drinking it on and off since we've been down here. Maybe it was why you got so sick at first." Avon swivelled stiffly and tried to make out his companions features. All he could see was a pale smudge.

"And you didn't?" He asked.

"Must be the Delta genes. We're used to living in other peoples' shit."

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Time was dragging now that he was awake. Hour after hour of semi darkness. Nothing happening and he was still to weak to MAKE anything happen. Vila had, with prompting, given enough details for him to admit that not only were things bad they were in fact, very much worse than he had thought.

The only way in or out of this room was via the shaft that was offering the only light they had. Their captors had dropped them down it over a week ago, if Vila's sense of time was correct - something Avon doubted. At erratic intervals something vaguely resembling food was dropped down the same shaft. The water that Vila had offered came from a natural fissure in the far wall, emersed somewhere in the darkness in front of him. That whole section was a spongy sagging 'time-bomb'. The fools above were so cretinous that they had not even been able to construct a decent hole in the ground. At the rate the water was seeping in they would not have to worry about dying of neglect down here they would eventually die in a cave in.

The thief had proved unusually practical in the "week" of his illness. Despite a jelly-kneed disposition he had managed to strip their "cell mates" of clothing and bedding and create an elevated platform to keep them out of the worst of the mud. It was narrow, thin and stank like he had never thought possible, but it did make things a little more comfortable. He used the term 'comfortable' in the loosest possible definition of the word. Avon was impressed, and that only fuelled his anger at himself, at Blake. Vila developing rational practicality when he himself had failed to even look over his shoulder in front of the bar was almost more than he could take.

As for their cell mates, as Vila so delusionally put it, they were in various states of decay. The most recent one looked like he had died in the last couple of weeks, huddled foetal and pathetic against the far corner, head between his knees. A picture of defeat that went soul deep. It was, on a purely primitive level, a very depressing image. On a practical level it posed a disease problem. It was too close to the water supply. He and Vila had investigated the possibility of moving it but the body seemed to have taken on the same consistency as the wall it was propped against and any attempt to move it would probably have unspeakable and, in the end, immaterial results. Vila had made a poor show of hiding his relief.

Avon shifted stiffly against the wall. This could not go on. He was not one for irrational action, but sitting here, wasting away like some delta-degenerate was beyond suffering. If he was to die down here then they'd find him, not like their latest victim, but adhered to the wall like a leech having died in the attempt to chew his way out through the damned ceiling.

"Hello there, Kevin." Avon looked up. It was Vila down at the water source talking to the corpse again. For some insane reason the thief believed that he would be safer getting water if he was polite to the chunk of spongy meat propped near it. That courtesy extended to the endowment of an equally ludicrous name it seemed. "Its just me, Vila, again. No need to get up old boy..." Avon gritted his teeth in a rictus, this was a living hell, he HAD to get out of here.


End file.
